An Uncommon Education (35 page)

Elena proved to be the consummate teacher, earnest and gracious. She taught with her hair pulled into a ponytail and green plastic glasses, making her seem like a child playing at school. Her soundtrack featured Shaggy and Marvin Gaye until Jo claimed that it was underrepresentative of women artists, so she switched to Björk, whose “Birthday” became, colloquially, “Birthday Suit,” and could be heard at full blast upon opening the door every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. A.J. appointed herself as her assistant and sat beside her, relaxed and receptive, taking notes on performances for Elena to refer to later and provide commentary accordingly. They might well have been judging the progress of lanyard weaving at summer camp. They drew many students; it wasn’t just A.J.’s seductive ease, it was Elena’s rare sweetness. Her clear laugh was easy to hear throughout the house.

Jun didn’t join the play again that semester, but we saw more of her whenever Elena was around. Jun attempted to downplay the fact that they had started dating, but I could see from her newly adopted and frequently seen beatific expression that things were going well. I tried to stay out of it, tried to act as if it were the most natural thing in the world that Jun was now openly allowing herself to enjoy such rare happiness.

On stage, Tiney, as Paris, doted on Elena like a Napoleonic caricature: small, smarmy, insistent. Elena took all this in with a good-natured playfulness, and their scene together was as humorous as it was sensual, an effect I found particularly engaging. For all her serious intent, Jo liked a good drama, and Tiney and Elena made a campy, insightful show of what were, if they ever existed, a few weeks of great sex. Elena was under scrutiny for Jun’s relative withdrawal from the society, and Tiney made it her job to tell people to leave Elena alone. She had a way of seeking peripheral ownership of Jun that I can notice now: the way she defended Elena, the way she had always had Jun’s
Hamlet
props ready when she needed them, the way she made sure that on one of her increasingly rare visits to the house Jun saw the copy of her photo op with Helena Bonham Carter pasted on the kitchen wall. It had been taken in London that summer, right in front of Wycombe Abbey, Jun’s high school.

“Are you stalking me, Wilcox?” Jun laughingly asked. Tiney’s grin was tight. “It was their Midsummer Shakespeare Festival, Jun! What tourist wouldn’t go? I just ended up there!” Each exclamation came across as less sincere than the one before it. “Was Branagh there, too?” A.J. interrupted. “I hear he’s been poking around with her. That it’s over with Emma.” “No,” Tiney insisted, suddenly serious. “True,” Jun said. “My sister saw it in the London
Times
last week.” “Oh,” Tiney said, “that explains it; I let my subscription lapse.” Jun and A.J. roared with laughter. “I did!” Tiney insisted. “I’m serious.” It seemed she was.

As the weeks went by, Jo became increasingly obsessed and high-strung. She seemed bent on some quarry just ahead but infuriatingly out of reach. She wanted to scour us for our deepest emotions and insecurities, mining them shamelessly for the play. A.J. was the only one not bothered by her, and I tried unsuccessfully to learn from her good-natured affability, though this rendered me even more in awe of it. She laughed at my worries. “I don’t think Cressida’s so full of turpitude as she says. Don’t take her so seriously! Troilus totally just offers her up to the Greeks! She should have dumped his sorry ass. Fucker.” She straightened her lapels cockily. “Should have stayed with Diomedes. Stable job. A little possessive, maybe. But, really, the perfect mate.”

I laughed. “I’m not sure you’ll find many people who’d share your interpretation,” I said.

“Look at you!” A.J. exclaimed. “So serious again. Isn’t that the beauty of all this? What we get to do here—make Shakespeare all about us?”

I suppose she was right. I believe I loved those plays as much as I did because they wouldn’t allow me to stop and think, forced me to act, so that being onstage became like a dream that changes one’s life: foggy, the details virtually lost, but the essence dragged into one’s consciousness—essential, shocking, quick to spoil. I sometimes wished I had the mind of a true Shakespearean scholar, one that could sit before art and develop a profound appreciation for it, rather than run amok through it, trying to fill myself with whatever glittery thing that caught my attention.

J
o crumbled after the final performance. She stationed herself in one of the two ceremonial chairs arranged along the south wall of the great room. We had various folding tables and chairs as well, but they were cleared aside for cast parties, and only the large chairs stayed, bookending the fireplace. Jo sunk into the one on the far right, the vice president’s chair, the one furthest from the front door and nearest the kitchen, so that no one coming in for the party could see her, but everyone who wanted or had taken food would. Her hair was frizzy with lack of care, looking like an oversized, poorly made wig that made for an exaggerated frame of her already overwhelmed expression. As the party went on, and more people came, she became as fixed and neglected as the piece of furniture she kept herself to.

Paradoxically, the play that should have tanked (according to the inside naysayers) had drawn bigger and more exuberant crowds than usual: family, friends, and friends of friends. My father had come to see me, but was out the door before I had the chance to go through the motions of wondering why my mother hadn’t come. I couldn’t tell if it was me or my mother or the play that had made him look so confused and out of place, but he dismissed my concern with a customary wave of the hand. Our brief, strained exchange made me want to walk out the door after him and back into my old life. But I shook it off, reasoning as I did that he was the one who had led me to where I was, believing that it was not my fault that he didn’t know what to make of me now that I was there.

The after party only brought more people, people who’d never thought they’d like anything other than
Hamlet
, but who followed one another into the house to meet the soldiers until there wasn’t any room to stand. I ended up making frequent, laborious trips outside to the front or back lawns. At one point I was standing on the grass, talking with Tiney, when Ann, the red-headed senior from Texas who’d played Troilus, reached up and clapped a firefly in her hands, then popped it in her mouth. Her perfect white teeth were showing before any of us had caught our breath.

“Southern fast food,” she said, grinning, before breaking into a barking laugh. “Hell,” Tiney said. Ann deepened her own smile at Tiney’s frown, the white teeth making me think of the taste of the bitter insect in my own mouth. “C’mon, Wilcox,” she chastised, “live a little.” She stood up and grabbed Tiney by the hand, “Let’s go find some fresh meat,” she suggested, yanking Tiney back into the house.

Jun was there, though she stuck to the perimeter of the party. I watched her pass once, twice, then three times through the hall with Elena, then saw them sit together, and then didn’t see them again. I kept trying to find my way to her, at least to see what she’d thought of the play, but there was too much going on.

She had also brought Keigo, or perhaps he’d come on his own. I tried to play down the pleasure I felt at seeing him. He had brought one of his roommates with him, a shorter boy with dirty-blond curly hair worn long. Keigo introduced him as Arthur, though Arthur immediately corrected him.

“Art”—he stuck his hand out toward me, bending just slightly as he did, effectively raising his hand up higher than it would have been. It was a very quick movement, but there was a graciousness to it that I’d seen in the type of boy who had been raised to respect women. “Do you guys do this all the time?” He didn’t wait for an answer, so I just nodded as he continued talking. “This is just so totally cool! You guys are awesome! The whole play was just amazing! What’s this?” He’d bounded over to the fireplace, was touching it with one hand.

“The fireplace?” I asked sarcastically.

He shook his head, grinning, “Yeah, I mean, but the stone. This is, like, really old stuff here. You don’t get this kind of carving except in England. Was it imported?” I was amazed at how quickly he could create questions for which I had no answers. I tried to guess where Calbe might be. “I can find someone who’ll know,” I started, but Art was distracted again, eyeing A.J. “Can you introduce me?” he asked, leaning in and gesturing with his head.

“Sure,” I said.

“Down, boy,” Keigo said, grinning.

A.J. came over at my wave and put a hand on my shoulder. “Beautiful,” she said, smiling. “And I am absolutely positive you should have stayed with Diomedes. I was much sexier than Ann.”

“Hi,” Art said, introducing his hand to her, “I’m Art Segal.” He pumped her hand with both of his. “You were amazing.”

“Thanks,” A.J. said, matching the breadth of his smile.

“Can I have a tour?” Art asked her.

“Sure,” A.J. said, her tone gently mocking. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait,” Art said, turning back to me. “Umm,” he said, stealing a glance at Keigo, “I’d like to give you my card,” and he fished something out of his pocket and handed it to me. “You really were wonderful.” He looked at Keigo again. “My favorite. We have a reading club of the plays at Harvard,” he said, looking at me straight on now. “Will you come?” He opened his eyes wide, the way a child does when asking. I caught my breath, embarrassed for him.

“Maybe,” I hesitated, not wanting to promise anything.

“I’d like to see you there,” he said, maybe a little sadly.

“Okay.” I took the card, warm and dog-eared, and put it in my pocket. A.J. led him away.

Keigo had put on a little weight, and it suited him. “Hi,” he said, looking down at me. “You make a lovely traitor.” He smiled.

I blushed, trying to stop by looking away. “Thanks,” I said adding, “It’s good to see you again.” A shifting in the crowd pressed him into me, but he didn’t move away. I was distracted by how close he was, and it was difficult to find something to say. He took my hand. His was unexpectedly warm. We stood like that for a long moment, neither one of us saying a thing. I was trying not to analyze why these parties brought out the carnal side of me, wondering also if Jun had any idea what was going on between us. Maybe it was the metaphorical masks we wore on stage, and then the real ones we offered at the door. Maybe it was the spirit of play, or the effect that heavy door closing at the front of the house had on so many of us: a literal barrier between our private worlds and the world outside, the one in which many of us wore blinders and followed a worn path. “Give me a minute?” I asked Keigo, and he nodded. I darted through the room and down the back stairs. There was no one in the dressing room anymore, so I was able to change alone. I threw my costume on a hanger on my way out and ran back up the stairs. The crowd had begun to thin a little.

Ann and Art were now chatting beside Keigo. As I approached them, I heard Art suggest we all take a walk together; I had no idea what had happened to A.J. Outside it was warm but misting. I didn’t have a jacket, so Keigo gave me his, instantly making me feel both gleeful and a little disappointed: his self-conscious chivalry a little canned. I held myself within the jacket, enjoying the shroud of dryness. Ann looked back at me, winked, and put an arm around Art.

“Have these boys seen Lake Waban?” she cooed back over her shoulder.

“I’ve heard of it,” Art was saying. He and Ann were of the same size, and from behind they looked more like relatives than strangers.

“I’d like to see it,” Keigo said, clearly. He had softened the wit I’d seen at Thanksgiving. Without it he seemed too thoughtful.

We let Art and Ann wander ahead of us as we made our way across the dark green. When we could no longer hear the house but could not yet see the lake, Keigo stopped me with one hand and leaned down to kiss me. I remember thinking it was a funny place to do such a thing, given that we were probably even more visible than we had been, standing as we were in an open field. But it was a nice kiss and I let myself enjoy it. He shivered a little without his jacket and I put my arms around his waist to keep him warm. After a while he pulled back. “They’ll be wondering what happened to us,” he said, lifting his chin in the direction of Ann and Art. I doubted that, but we set off to find them anyway.

They’d turned on to a curve on the path ahead of us, and we couldn’t see them right away. Before long we could hear Ann, though; she was one of those people who actually said
Hah hah hah
when she laughed, and it carried. Just before we caught up to them, Keigo stopped. I turned to face him. “Come visit me next weekend,” he said quickly. “Come to Harvard for the day.”

“Okay,” I said, charmed and made a little giddy by his impulsiveness. Art and Ann appeared a moment later, making their way quickly now toward us. Ann was grinning more broadly than I would have expected, making me wonder if something lecherous had happened during the few minutes they’d been out of sight.

“Do you know,” Art said as soon as they were in hearing distance, “that there’s a tradition about this lake? If you walk a Wellesley woman around it three times, you’re supposed to ask her to marry you!”

“What if you walk more than one woman around it?” Ann blared.

“I don’t know! Maybe whoever gets back to the starting point first gets asked?”

“Hah hah hah! Hah hah hah!”

Keigo grinned at Ann, then at me. “Sounds reasonable,” he said.

“Really?” Ann said. “I think the whole thing sounds inane,” and started to laugh again. I don’t know how any of us could have resisted laughing with her. Art was watching her like he would swallow anything she might say whole and delightedly. We made our way back into the house.

Keigo ran ahead to see if he could find Jun, who had called a taxi for him. Art decided he’d try his luck with the buses later. He had his arm around Ann’s waist. I didn’t want to go back to the dorm. It would either be lonely or Jun would be hoping for some privacy with Elena. I thought I’d wait around to see if Jun would emerge. Half an hour later I was still sitting in the kitchen and had worked my way through two cups of Ruth’s punch. I picked up a half-empty cup from the table and swallowed what was inside it, too. I was suddenly tired and couldn’t remember when I had last eaten. And then, just as suddenly, I felt that if I didn’t get some air I’d be sick. I stood up and walked myself over to the door. Ann caught me coming out and hugged me, kissing me on both cheeks. “So I think I’m going to sleep with Art,” she said.